Those Three Words
by bobness
Summary: "But Alfred was still innocent and Arthur was grown up, and those three words were useless." One-sided USUK, rated M for language and sexual situations.


**I haven't written anything in quite some time- I think I'm just kind of leaving all of my other stories unfinished, since I'd like to plan something else. As an apology, have this story I wrote up in a couple hours.  
**

**(Actually, I should also apologize for the story itself.)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

* * *

It started off as just three words.

Alfred and Arthur had been friends for a long time. They met in elementary school, both as innocent as could be, and when Alfred saw that Arthur read Harry Potter, he instantly declared the two of them to be friends. Never mind the fact that they were as different as could be; they really _were _best friends.

Their relationship wavered slightly during middle school, those awful three years in which Alfred decided he wanted to be a part of the "cool" crowd, and Arthur decided that his grades were more important than Friday night sleepovers with Alfred. They drifted, said the occasional, "Hey, what's up!" and that was it.

Of course, Alfred was a stubborn kid, and when eighth grade came to an end, he said to Arthur, "You know, it got kinda boring without you around." And then he smiled that brilliantly bright smile, and Arthur's heart swelled proudly as he nodded, renewing the friendship they once shared.

High school was easy enough, and Alfred grew closer and closer to him. Alfred shared probably every secret he had; he stole his dad's liquor once, he was nursing a tiny kitten back to health in the secrecy of his no-pets-allowed apartment, he accidentally broke his mom's vase and she never did notice. The sort of useless trivia that would only come in handy should it be broadcast out on a game show of sorts.

Arthur never told him anything.

College came quicker than both of them imagined it would, and they found themselves sharing an apartment together. It was cozy, and Arthur was happy. Alfred still talked to him, but it began to lessen as he brought boys home.

"What's the matter, Alfred?" Arthur had asked after the first night. "Can't handle the fact that I'm a queer?"

Alfred shrugged his shoulders. "Nah, you know that doesn't really bother me." Which Arthur very well did, considering one of Alfred's secrets had been _I might be gay_. He just didn't know why else Alfred would suddenly become quiet and sullen around him.

"Well, then, what is it?"

The American never answered, and Arthur, never one to push him around, dropped the subject.

It took a few days for Alfred to open up again, but he shut his mouth when the second boy spent the night in Arthur's bed. By the third time, Arthur finally noticed that his eyes were rimmed red and his trademark smile didn't shine as brightly anymore.

"I would appreciate it if you told me what was the matter," he growled as a form of welcome when Alfred came home from his part-time job one night.

A bit thrown off by the less-than-pleasant greeting, Alfred blinked. "Huh?"

At any other given time, Arthur would have commented on his stupidity.

"Look at you; you're a fucking mess. Your clothes are wrinkled, and I can clearly tell that you aren't happy."

"My clothes are always wrinkled," Alfred muttered in reply, tossing his jacket next to Arthur on the couch.

"Of course, but never _this_ bad. Have you even done laundry in the past few days?"

"I have."

"It doesn't look like it."

Alfred bristled, and Arthur could tell that his words were striking some sort of chord with him. "Perhaps you'd best _iron_ them as well. I have the ironing board in my closet, and you just need to ask for-"

"What if I ask when you're having sex?" Alfred snapped. "Knock knock, Arthur, I need your ironing board, can you pull his dick out of you for five seconds and kindly bring it to me?"

Arthur stared, green eyes narrowed. "Watch your mouth, Alfred. There's surely no need to be rude."

Alfred snorted. "Says the man telling me that I look like shit. You know, why don't you go fuck my boss while you're at it, tell him to stop giving me heavy workloads, 'cause have you ever thought that _work_ might be the problem? No, you're too busy finding your next _buddy_ to invite over for the night."

"You never told me you had a problem with my sexuality," Arthur hissed, standing from the couch. "Perhaps if you had, I would have toned it down."

"I _do_ remember telling you that I don't give a shit if you like men or women!" Alfred snapped. "What you never asked me, though, is whether or not I can get any sleep with you two moaning and screaming _right_ beside my room!"

"If you have a problem, say it now."

Alfred glared. "I just _did_," he snarled. "Keep your fucking voice low, okay, and then maybe I can get some goddamn sleep." With those words, he stomped away, slamming his bedroom door shut, and leaving Arthur sitting there in confusion.

* * *

The men didn't come so regularly after that. Once a month, if even that, Arthur might bring someone home in a drunken stupor, and he always made sure that the kissing didn't start until they reached his bedroom. If they grew too loud, Alfred would bang on the walls, and Arthur would tell his partner to tone it down a notch. The set-up went along well, and Alfred began to tell Arthur all of his secrets once more.

Arthur, pleased their friendship was working out again, would nod and smile along with Alfred, keeping his more private activities to his bedroom only.

Until the day that one guy stayed the night, and cooked Arthur breakfast in the morning.

"I'm not fond of eggs," Arthur said, scratching at his bare chest and staring appreciatively at his latest catch's behind.

"You will be quite fond of mine. I promise."

The promise was weak, and Arthur sighed. Alfred was the only person who could make him eat eggs.

As if his thoughts could summon, Alfred suddenly stepped in, eyes wide when he realized that someone else was in their kitchen. Someone who wore nothing but plaid boxers.

"Arthur?" he asked. "Who's this?"

Arthur turned around, raising his eyebrows. "A one-night stand. He's just here to make us breakfast."

That _was_ all he did (and Arthur never saw him again), but it affected Alfred in a way Arthur had never seen before. Alfred just stopped talking. He stopped eating at home, he stopped doing his chores, he stopped playing games, he just stopped everything. The only times Arthur ever saw him were early in the morning or late at night, as he transitioned to either college or work.

It was confusing, to say the least.

Luckily, Arthur was as cunning as Alfred was stubborn, and he managed to find time to say a few words.

"What the bloody hell is your problem?"

Alfred stiffened and looked away. "I dunno what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do." Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. "You haven't spoken to me in a little over a week. And when I say that, I mean you haven't spoken to me _at all_. You've completely shut down, and your classmates have been noticing." When Alfred made no move to dispute his words, Arthur sighed, softening his approach. "Alfred what is the matter?"

Alfred's eyes darted to the kitchen, and Arthur instantly knew what he wanted to say. "Was it that man?"

"Yeah."

Well, there was some progress. Arthur leaned back against the wall and sighed. "What about him did you not like?"

Alfred's lips were chapped. He ran his tongue over them and looked away nervously, and Arthur knew that gesture. That was the gesture Alfred always did whenever he had a deep secret he was about to tell. However, this seemed even deeper than his father's liquor, his parents' divorce, or his sexuality confusion. This seemed life-changing.

"I don't like that he stayed," Alfred whispered, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "They never stay."

Arthur cocked his head, raising both eyebrows and pursing his lips. "Why do you care?"

Alfred glanced up at him and waited for Arthur to nod his head before continuing. "I'm afraid if they stay until morning, they might stay forever."

"Again, why do you care?"

He knew the answer now, as Alfred stared up at him, opening his mouth to explain. _Don't say it_, Arthur silently begged. _Please, Alfred, please don't say it._

He said it.

And Arthur froze.

"It was a gradual thing," Alfred continued. "I mean...it took me a while to learn why I always felt so angry with you. It...I thought about it for a long time, and I just kinda realized it a few weeks before _that_ guy came by. I really...I really love you."

Arthur wanted to throw up.

"I don't know what to say, Alfred."

Alfred stepped forward, and Arthur was trapped by his gaze.

"Please treat me like you do those other men," he whispered. "You seem to love all of them. You're always gentle with them, even when you're drunk, and then you never do anything with me."

He didn't do anything with Alfred because Alfred was innocent, still stuck in elementary school where little things meant the world to him. Alfred didn't deserve to be degraded to nothing more than a fuck buddy. Alfred was destined to find true love.

But not with him.

Still, it had been a while since Arthur brought anyone home. He already cut back on sex enough to accommodate with Alfred's request (and there was a reason he had made such a request, and it wasn't because of noise, Arthur realized), and he was ready for more. Did Alfred know he didn't love him? Did Alfred _know_, just by looking into his eyes as their lips touched, that he was just in this for one night, that this meant absolutely nothing to him?

It didn't seem that way, because Arthur saw hope on the boy's face, hope that Arthur couldn't bear to dash.

They kissed, a bit sloppy, and Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur. "I love you," he murmured into the kiss, and each time he said it, Arthur's stomach turned. "I love you, I love you, I love you so much, Arthur."

Arthur said nothing, only tightened his grip and led them both into the bedroom- _his_ bedroom, where he had already fucked at least twelve meaningless men, adding Alfred to their midst (and now it would be thirteen, and Arthur always hated that number, it was uneven and useless)- shedding clothes as they went.

Alfred seemed more than happy when they both collapsed on the bed, clad in nothing but their underwear.

Alfred had an erection. Arthur didn't.

They were grinding by then, Alfred refusing to let Arthur's lips go. By pure physical activity did Arthur finally grow partially hard, and he felt bad, felt _awful_ for ever allowing himself to do this to Alfred.

It was clear Alfred had done this before, at least once, for he wasn't the fumbling virgin Arthur figured him to be. He gently pulled down Arthur's boxers, releasing the Englishman's length and allowing his thumb to circle over the head.

"When?" Arthur choked out, bucking up into Alfred's hands. God damn the boy for making him feel so good. "When have you done this?"

"I went to a club a few months ago," Alfred muttered, cheeks growing red. "Just to see if, maybe, I was gay."

"And?"

Alfred snorted, a ghost of his former smile appearing back on his face. "I am, obviously. Like, would I be doing this if I wasn't?" He kissed Arthur's neck, and the sweet gesture made Arthur want to cry.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" After all, Alfred always told his secrets. Arthur knew every single one of them.

But, then again, maybe he didn't. Maybe Alfred only told him enough so that Arthur wouldn't worry. Oh, this boy was clever. This boy knew how to hide his true emotions.

Alfred said nothing, only confirming Arthur's stance that there was probably more to Alfred than he would ever know.

"Where do you keep your lube?" Alfred asked, removing his own boxers in a bashful manner. It would have been cute, had Arthur not been berating himself for agreeing to this.

"Condoms and lube are in the top drawer," came to reply, a pale hand waving to the bedside table. Alfred nodded and reached over, grabbing the necessary materials. He didn't question why Arthur had so much; there was no need to.

With a determined gaze at Arthur, Alfred expertly rolled the condom onto his cock, thumbs moving fast and still very steady.

Arthur, on the other hand, knew his own hands were trembling.

"And how many times have you worn a condom before?" he asked, wanting to get his mind off of the lube that Alfred was spreading out across his fingers.

"Three times. I had sex with this girl twice before-" and he never told Arthur, and Arthur's stomach turned, "-and with that guy in the club a few weeks back. Also, I stole one of your condoms once and practiced on a banana."

Arthur would have laughed. He might have smiled, because he found Alfred smiling back at him. "A banana?"

"Yeah. I would have done it on myself, but that would have been kinda stupid."

Arthur just hoped the threw the banana away afterward. Not that it would have been ruined, or anything, but he didn't appreciate knowing he might have consumed a condom-wearing banana.

"And why did you need to practice?"

The mumbled reply came a few seconds later. "Dunno." Alfred held his fingers up and asked, "Can I go ahead and stretch you?"

Arthur nodded, lifting his hips to give Alfred better access. All of his partners stretched him gently, and Alfred was no exception. The first finger slid in with a little bit of difficulty, as Arthur tightened slightly, trying to get used to the foreign invader. Alfred, still as innocent as ever, waited until Arthur nodded once more before adding the second finger. He scissored around, and Arthur squirmed, making sure he never once touched his prostrate.

He didn't deserve to be pleased.

When the last finger was added and Alfred deemed him ready enough, he aligned his cock to Arthur's entrance, watching his face.

Arthur bit his lip and looked away. "What are you waiting for, Alfred?"

"I don't want to have sex if you don't love me."

Arthur couldn't help but groan, and he snapped his gaze back to the taller, stronger, far more handsome American that hovered over him. "Alfred, you got us both all prepared, and we're both incredibly horny. It would be rather ridiculous to back out now."

Alfred looked hurt, and he whispered, "I only want you if you want me, Arthur." Silence fell and Alfred looked like he was about to cry.

Arthur could have turned away then. He could have said, "I do not love you, and it's best if we put this incident behind us," but the lust was stronger than his common sense. He wanted to be fucked; he hadn't had it in so long.

And so he said those three words.

The sudden change in Alfred's face really did make Arthur sick. He was sure now he had a fever, and once this was over, he would puke his guts out in the bathroom.

"Really?" the American was breathless, grinning widely. "You mean it?"

_No._ "Yes. I mean it."

He was kissed then, tender and loving, and he kissed back, tender and loving and full of falsehoods and lies. He was _disgusting_, and the fact that Alfred put so much trust and faith in him was pathetic, for the both of them.

"God, Arthur, I love you, I love you, I love you and I never want to leave your side."

And, yet, all Arthur could think of was how he now had someone who would have sex with him so willingly, whenever he wanted to have sex.

"Then don't," Arthur whispered, hiding his face in Alfred's neck. Alfred wasn't smart enough to hear the lie, but he was observant enough to see it. "Don't ever leave me. Stay with me forever, love me forever. I do love you, Alfred, and I want to be in your embrace forever."

He was holding Alfred back from getting the love he truly deserved, and he felt _awful_, disgusting, sick, evil, horrible-

And all Alfred could see was goodness in him.

Alfred pushed in shortly after Arthur's fake confession, and he breathed slowly. Alfred was big, a lot bigger than he gave him credit for, and he should have been using his time to fill someone who truly loved him, not Arthur.

"I'm sorry if it hurts," Alfred murmured. "Tell me when I can-"

"Move," Arthur demanded, gripping at the bedsheets. He wished he had done this on his stomach, so he wouldn't have to see Alfred's face.

Alfred blinked, a bit shocked that the order was barked so soon, but he nodded. "Okay." And then he started to move, slowly at first, and then speeding up, making a steady rhythm. The noise of wet skin-on-skin was disgusting to Arthur's ears. Alfred's lovestruck face was disgusting. Above all else, _he_ was disgusting.

It took a bit, but Alfred finally came, calling out Arthur's name, and Arthur laid there and allowed him to ride out his orgasm.

He never did come.

"God, I love you," Alfred whispered as he pulled out. "Arthur, I-"

"Yes, I get it," Arthur said, sitting up. "Please stop saying it." He didn't bother glancing over again at Alfred's face; he knew there was confusion written on it, confusion and hurt, and he couldn't bear to see those looks on Alfred. "I'm going to take a shower. I have a busy day tomorrow."

He was almost to the bathroom when he heard Alfred speak. "You're off tomorrow."

Arthur froze in his steps and slowly turned. "Pardon?"

Yes, there was the hurt and confusion. "You're _off_ tomorrow," Alfred repeated. "You have your schedule on the fridge."

"I have college classes-"

"You don't have college classes on a Saturday," Alfred snapped. "Why are you trying to get away from me so bad? Why are you lying to...lying to m-me...?"

The realization dawned in Alfred's voice, and Arthur looked down at the ground.

"Oh my god," Alfred whispered.

"Alfred, I'm-"

"You _lied_ to me!"

"I was just-"

"You-You were _using_ me!"

Arthur couldn't deny any of Alfred's accusations, for they were true, they were all true. He winced, crossing his arms over his chest and awaiting Alfred's anger. He deserved every harsh word that would be thrown his way.

"You don't love me! You- You just want _sex_!"

That was true, and Arthur squeezed his eyes shut. "I never meant to hurt you."

Alfred said nothing. Alfred just let out a sob, and Arthur ran to the bathroom, where he could turn on the shower as cold as it would go and rest against the hard floor, drowning out the sound of Alfred's crying.

* * *

It took a while for Alfred to speak to Arthur again. There were no more secrets, no more men brought home, no more smiles. They just didn't speak to each other, and both felt like the world was crashing down.

So when Alfred _did_ open his mouth that night, that night where Arthur came home at three in the morning smelling of sex and alcohol, it was surprising.

"You fucked someone else?"

Arthur was unsure of how to respond. He lingered in the living room, staring at Alfred who, in turn, stared at the television. "Yes." Honesty was the best policy.

Too bad he figured that out too late.

"How long have you been doing this?"

"On and off, since..." Arthur shrugged his shoulders.

Alfred turned off the television and finally looked at Arthur, and Arthur winced when he saw such sadness, such loneliness.

"Arthur, treat me like you do them."

* * *

Alfred stopped telling Arthur secrets.

Arthur stopped whispering lies.

"I'm using you," he would say as they would engage in sex, slow and sweet or fast and hard.

"I don't mind," Alfred would lie, the secrets bubbling up just underneath his lips. "I don't mind at all."

And he did mind, for when they were through, Alfred would cry, face buried in his pillow, and Arthur would slink back to his room, Alfred's words chasing him away-

"I love you, Arthur, please, please love me, please just say you do, please let me be happy."

But Alfred was still innocent and Arthur was grown up, and those three words were useless.


End file.
